‘The way it makes you want to pull out of life and pull away from everything?’ My eyes are still closed and his shoulder has left mine now, but the hairs on my arms stand on end from the closeness of the brushed cotton shirt covering his arm. His hand is resting right next to mine, and if I reached my fingers out, I could probably touch his.
But I don’t, obviously.
‘Exactly. And you wonder what the point in getting close to anyone ever again is because everyone’s going to leave you anyway, it’s better to protect yourself and be alone?’ He finishes the sentence for me in much more eloquent words than I could ever have chosen.
I lean my head back and look up to catch his eyes and he gives me a gentle smile, and a little fizzle of something sparks between us. If I tilted my head just a bit, it would be so easy to kiss him.
He must feel something too because he clears his throat and turns away, looking intently back towards the pumpkin fields.
‘So you were 16 when you took over the farm?’
‘Are you kidding? No. I ran away.’
I look up at him in surprise and he closes his eyes with a sigh. ‘I was determined that my father dying wouldn’t affect my life. I pushed the grief away and pretended I was fine. The only time I let myself grieve was when I hid in the trees on summer nights and no one knew where I was. I spent that summer helping Evergreene out, isolated with just the trees for company because I could pick up a shearing knife and disappear into those fields. Then, in September, I went to college, pushed away friends and did nothing but schoolwork. I got into a university in London, then I got a job and stayed there. It took until I was 28 to stop running and acknowledge the fact my father had died and it had changed me.’
I clench my fingers to stop myself slipping an arm around him and squeezing tight. There’s an edge of disbelief to his voice even as he’s speaking, like he’s surprised at himself for being so open with a virtual stranger.
I look over, and like he can feel my eyes on him, he slowly opens his until our gaze locks again and his mouth quirks up, giving me a tiny smile that looks soft and vulnerable, and I think it’s a smile that not many people get to see under his grumpy exterior.
Chapter 9
‘Now, we’ll have one here and one there.’ Fiona points to a pillar on either side of the entrance to the market building. ‘Oh, and we could do with a couple outside too to draw attention. Not quite as big as the one in the main entrance, but big enough to see. Seven foot should do it.’
Noel laughs at how thorough she is with her commands as we both follow her around the market and I scribble down notes about her list of tree demands. It’s early and we’ve left Fergus watching the pumpkin stall while he sets out his biscuits, although all he seemed to be watching when we left was his fingers in the jar of Glenna’s pumpkin marmalade that Noel gave him.
‘One could go here.’ She points to a space between the used bookseller and a stall that’s reserved for handmade decorations closer to Christmas. ‘And another over there by the craft beers, and one there by the festive food from around the world stall …’
‘We’re going to have more trees than stallholders soon,’ Noel says.
It’s a quiet Tuesday morning and there will definitely be more trees than customers at this rate. ‘Maybe the trees can take over the stalls and give the workers a break.’
‘As long as they haven’t been out on the lash the night before. You can never get trees with hangovers to turn up on time, and no one wants them puking pine needles over the produce and snaffling up fried breakfasts all morning.’
It makes me giggle and me giggling sets him off too, and we don’t realise we’ve missed Fiona’s latest instruction until she stops in her tracks and turns to face us with her arms folded and a pinched look on her face.
‘Sorry, Fiona.’ Noel tries so hard to adopt a serious face that it makes me laugh even more.
‘Sorry, Fiona.’ I giggle and it makes him start up again too.
Fiona raises an eyebrow, but her face changes from annoyed to knowing, and she gets the same look she always gets when she hears a bit of gossip.
Suitably scolded, I take more notes as she walks us through the market, pointing out where she wants the smaller trees, and saying hello to all the stallholders as we pass.
Fiona stops for a chat with her friend at the candle stall, and I take the opportunity to dash towards the back of the market and collect my business cards, flyers, and postcards from the printing stall. They were ready to collect last week, but I’ve been so busy with the farm that this is the first chance I’ve had to get back here and pick them up. Weeding has been top of the agenda. I reasoned that the seasonal workers who have started now will be experts at shearing trees, but it would help if they could actually get to them first.
I squeak in delight when the lad hands me a box and inside is the most beautiful set of marketing materials I’ve ever seen. They’re perfect. The background is so bright white it almost glistens and the dark green of the trees make the red of the border pop. They look simple and professional and make me feel like a proper tree farmer. If I picked up one of these, I’d want to go there.
‘Whatcha got there, love?’ the candlemaker asks when I get back to where Fiona is still gossiping.
‘I got some postcards and flyers printed up and they’re amazing.’ I know I’m sporting a gleeful smile, and the lad at the stall designed them, not me, but it feels good to be taking steps to make Peppermint Branches work, even small ones.
The candlemaker clears a space on her stall so I can put the box down, and all three of them gather round and ooh and ahh as I open the box. She plunges her hand in and pulls out a handful of flyers. ‘I’ll tuck one of these in with every candle I sell. Lots of people come here to buy their Christmas gifts, no doubt they’ll be wanting a tree come December too.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to do—’
She interrupts my protest. ‘Nonsense. We help our own here. And Fiona was telling me you’re going to be festifying our market with lots of trees, so it’s the least I can do.’
‘Thank you. That’s really kind.’ I hadn’t got as far as figuring out what I was actually going to do with these yet, but I’m genuinely touched by how welcoming the stallholders are here and how quickly they’ve accepted me.
‘Leave me some postcards too. I’ll pop a little stack of them on the stall for people to take. Ask the other stalls too. I’m sure everyone will be more than willing to help you out.’
I thank her and we move on to the baker’s stall, where Fiona shuffles round the back with a stack of flyers and asks him to hand them out too, getting a similarly enthusiastic response.
‘I’ve been getting my tree there every Christmas since I was a boy,’ he says to me. ‘’Twas devastated when it closed. I’ll be your first customer this year, you mark my words. And let me know if you need anything else.’
Fiona shows him the postcards and he asks for some of them to display on his stall too, and honestly, I have to turn away for a minute because everyone’s kindness is enough to make my eyes start filling up.
‘You okay?’ Noel steps nearer and ducks his head to whisper as Fiona hands out business cards and postcards to the bookseller, stopping for a well-earned gossip.
I swallow and paste a smile on, and turn back just in time to catch Fiona furtively pointing a finger towards the two of us.
I elbow Noel in the ribs even though he was watching anyway. ‘We’re being talked about.’
‘You’re new round here. What I’ve learned is that there will always be gossip in a place like this, and the more you try to fight it, the more you make everyone think you’ve got something to hide. Don’t worry about it. Someone’s budgie will escape tomorrow and go and mug some parakeets and it’ll all be forgotten about.’
I snort and we get raised eyebrows from both Fiona and the bookseller.
‘You’re not helping,’ I hiss at Noel.
‘Nah, if I wasn’t helping, I’
d do this.’ He strides across the aisle to the flower seller, picks up a bunch of pink roses and makes a loud clang of change as he hands the bloke a few coins, ensuring every eye in the vicinity has turned in our direction. He comes back and presents them to me with a flourish and ends with a bow. ‘To brighten up the stall,’ he says close to my ear. ‘You can carry them.’
‘You know no one heard that, right? They just think you bought me flowers.’
‘Why’d you think I said it so quietly?’ His eyes are dancing with mischief, but he makes up for it by talking the florist into popping a postcard inside the wrapping of every bouquet.
‘So you want them to gossip about us?’ I shift the flowers to my other arm so I can still hold the notebook and pen when Fiona’s finished her chat.
‘People are going to gossip about us no matter what we do. If a feminine-looking pigeon comes in twice, Fiona thinks it wants to ask me on a date and Fergus starts asking around for bird-friendly restaurants.’
It makes me laugh again. ‘Will you stop being so funny?’
He grins. ‘Ah, let ‘em talk. You’re way out of my league. I’m honoured if they think you’d look twice at me.’
I don’t hide the double-take. ‘Are you jok—’
Of course, Fiona chooses that moment to finish her conversation and point out the location of another tree. I hastily mark it on my scribbled map of the market, but she’s already hurried onwards and we both rush to follow her. It stops me thinking about what he’s just said and how he could possibly think that. He’s literally the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my life. His shoulder-length dark hair is ridiculously sexy, soft and touchable but just scruffy enough to look rugged and handsome as well, blue eyes that look closer to green when he’s outdoors, with the dark shadows of a thousand early mornings that make it look like he’s wearing natural eyeliner, that lip piercing nestled in the deep dip of his Cupid’s bow that I can still barely tear my eyes away from. More importantly than any of that, he’s hilarious and kind. He’s literally the most thoughtful person I’ve ever met. He’s been popping over to help fix remaining things in the house and we’ve been working on the caravan together. He’s even managed to get a pane of double-glazing from somewhere and replace the kitchen window. How he could think anyone was out of his league is beyond me. Even the Queen would be lucky to have him. If she was into dating 38-year-old Scottish pumpkin farmers. She’s probably not.
It’s early November now, and Halloween passed in a blur of carving pumpkins, helping kids craft their own scary masks at a workstation outside Roscoe Farm, and watching Noel chase people around the maize maze while dressed as a scarecrow.
Admittedly, the sexiest scarecrow ever. Including Fiyero from Wicked. And he takes some beating in the sexy scarecrow stakes.
‘Do you have decorations for all these trees?’ I ask as we complete a full circle of the market and return to the pumpkin stall, where Fergus has moved onto dipping a gingerbread piano into his marmalade.
‘No budget.’ Fiona isn’t really paying attention, she’s still scouting around for any spare inch where we could squeeze in another Christmas tree. ‘We’ll ask the stallholders to bring in their own decs from home, maybe even ask the customers to donate any old ones that they don’t want. I bet loads of people have got boxes of decorations gathering dust in their attics and would be glad of a way to get shot of them.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible.’ I picture those gorgeous trees decked out in faded foil lamettas, fire-hazard lights with half the bulbs missing, and moth-eaten paperchains that had seen better days before the Nineties, let alone now.
Noel meets my eyes like he can tell what I’m thinking. ‘The trees deserve better than that.’
‘You say this is a popular tourist market for the festive season?’ I look around, my eyes wandering to all the empty spots where Fiona’s demanded a tree. ‘Why don’t we ask local businesses to decorate them for the free advertising?’
Noel makes a noise of interest, Fiona’s head whips round faster than a flash of lightning, and even Fergus has looked up from the marmalade.
‘They could do, like, themed decorations for their products, with a couple of big signs saying who they are and where to get their stuff. For example, you …’ I point at Noel. ‘You know those miniature clay pumpkins you were selling as Halloween decorations? You could make more of those with a ribbon through the top and a bit of glitter and hang them like baubles. You could use white tinsel with sparkly orange bits, garlands of green vines, a couple of Cinderella pumpkin carriages, maybe some glass slippers too. Your mum was telling me about her knitting, she could knit Roscoe Farm bunting to string around it, that sort of thing. And you …’ I turn to Fiona. ‘You could hang up some miniature bathbombs and string up chains of bath pearls, pastel coloured tinsel to match your products, with a sparkly bath puff on top instead of a star. Fergus could have strings of gingerbread men, baubles of … well, knowing Fergus it’ll be baubles of donkeys and Mary and Joseph and—’
‘Nutcrackers!’ Fergus shouts. ‘I’ve never made a gingerbread nutcracker before.’
‘But not just the market traders. We pitch the idea properly to big businesses, preferably local, who have products to sell and don’t already have a presence in the Christmas market. It’s a great way to get their products in front of customers who wouldn’t otherwise see them and show that they have a bit of Christmas cheer and community spirit too.’
‘This is brilliant.’ Noel is almost bouncing on the spot. ‘Why have we never thought of this before?’
‘Because we’ve never had a wonderful newcomer willing to donate lots of Christmas trees before!’ Fiona comes over and pulls me into a hug. ‘You’re brilliant, you are!’
I blush because it’s been a long time since anyone thought that.
‘I’ll start work on a list of businesses to pitch to right away.’ She releases me and goes to hug Noel and then Fergus. Fergus’s hug is a lot longer than either of ours and Noel meets my eyes and raises an eyebrow at the sight.
‘We could make it a competition.’ I feel a bit more confident in the idea now that they haven’t laughed me out of the building. ‘We could ask them to decorate the smaller trees, and then get local schoolkids to judge them, and whoever wins will … I don’t know. Win something. We have to make it worthwhile for businesses to want to get involved. You said there used to be a big tree at the other end of Elffield, right?’
Noel nods. ‘Yeah, but the council cut it from the budget years ago.’
‘And there’s a motorway over there …’ I point in the general direction of where I think the motorway passes, and Noel touches my hand and moves my arm around to the opposite direction. ‘So the tree would’ve been visible from it?’
He gives me another nod of confirmation.
‘So what if we put it back? What if we take one of the biggest Peppermint firs and put it there, and whoever wins this little market competition will get to decorate it. If it’s visible from the motorway, that’s incredibly good advertising, and something a bit different for Christmas. Local businesses would be interested in that, right?’
‘And the motorway exit is just past that spot, so people could pull right off and come in if they fancied it,’ Fiona says.
‘You’re happy to give away all these trees for nothing?’ Noel raises a cynical eyebrow.
‘It’s not for nothing.’ I think of how light the box of postcards and flyers under my arm is now, how happy the stallholders have been to hand them out to their customers, how welcoming everyone has been and how many people have told me how much they loved Peppermint Branches and how happy they are to see it reopening. ‘We help our own round here.’
He laughs at the repetition of words that have been said to me a few times this morning.
‘I know someone on the council, I could have a word, see if they’d support it?’ Fergus says. ‘It’d bring loads of extra people into the market. The businesses could pay something towards it, either
an entry fee into the competition or a rental fee for their individual trees, so that would bring in revenue that the market sorely needs, and it would be fun for the whole town with the kids getting involved too. Kids would love judging something like that. I’ll make gingerbread Christmas trees to bribe them into picking mine …’ Fergus lets out a giggle. ‘Oops, did I say that out loud?’
‘Do you do any kind of co-incentives here?’
‘I don’t even know what they are,’ Noel says.
‘Co-ordinated shopping. Like, if you buy a tree here, you get 20 per cent off at the decorations stall. If someone buys a bathbomb, you could give them a coupon for the candle stall and vice versa. If someone buys two loaves of bread from the baker, they could have a free gingerbread biscuit from Fergus.’
‘I could make gingerbread in the shape of loaves!’ Fergus says.
‘We’ve never done that.’ Noel looks around the market and then back at me. ‘Why have we never done that? That’s genius.’
I blush again. The Noel I’ve got to know over the last couple of weeks is a creative genius, so hearing that from him is a real compliment. I barrel on because I don’t want to think about how fluttery it makes me feel. ‘We need to give people a reason to visit the whole market, to look at every stall, to buy things that they didn’t know they wanted before stepping foot in here. If we have any chance of saving this place, we have to do it together.’
‘Do you think we can?’ Fiona looks between me and Noel. ‘There’s been an underlying current between traders that it’s as good as gone. There’s no saving it.’
‘I think a good season could delay it.’ Noel sounds like he’s being careful not to get their hopes up. ‘If businesses take up the Christmas tree idea – and if we can get a good bit of publicity going online and in the local area then I think they will – it could be a game-changer. If we can get people talking about it, encourage kids from all around to come and vote for their favourite, the trees would be the sort of thing that people would visit specifically to see. And with this wee genius on board, who knows what the year could bring?’ His arm drops around my shoulder and he squeezes me tight into his side.
Snowflakes at the Little Christmas Tree Farm Page 17